


Superhero Discount

by airebellah



Category: Deadpool (Movieverse), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Awkwardness, Banter, College Student Peter, Crushes, Deadpool Thought Boxes, Deadpool is the #1 Spider-Man fan, Dopinder is Wade's cheerleader and biggest supporter, First Meetings, Flirting, Interrogation, M/M, Meet-Cute, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-16
Updated: 2018-06-16
Packaged: 2019-05-24 06:27:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14949351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/airebellah/pseuds/airebellah
Summary: When Peter accidentally falls asleep in the back of a taxi, still masked, he has his first (unfortunate) encounter with a mercenary named Deadpool.





	Superhero Discount

**Author's Note:**

> I've just recently discovered this fandom, ugh these two <333 I'm excited/nervous to post my first fic, and I can't wait to finally see DP2 in a few days!
> 
> Enjoy!

Peter Parker was not one to swear, but he was having a really _shitty_ day.

He had been up for the past forty-eight hours cramming for this morning’s inorganic chem midterm, because his phone’s calendar was riddled with the most inane reminders, like _Remember to drink actual water_ and _Aunt May’s boss’s birthday_ (whom she had not worked for in over two years), but he forgot to add a warning for an exam worth thirty-five percent of his overall grade.

Then, he had stayed late on campus arguing marks with his microbial physiology TA for his latest paper, which was admittedly a stretch and ultimately unsuccessful. When the subway arrived at his station, he found the bus to his neighbourhood wouldn’t be arriving for another twenty-three minutes and decided to walk. He had almost _sighed_ when he caught muffled threats down a dark alley, yanked on his mask, and walked in on a good ol’ fashioned late-night mugging. It was easy to web the assailant to the side of a dumpster, but just as he was helping the vic up, a yappy, fluffy terror came racing down the alleyway. As the vic shouted out in excitement, Peter had thought he was in for a tender reunion… until the little monster latched onto his ankle with a razor-sharp grip that would put Badger Teeth to shame.

So now here he was, limping down the dark streets of Queens, ankle torn to shreds by the tiny pet _banshee_ of a man Spider-Man had kindly saved. (The man did apologize profusely, once he had gotten the tiny spawn of Satan to calm down, and agreed to never speak of it to _anyone._ At least what little dignity his alter-ego had would remain intact.) He hoped nobody would catch the pathetic sight of Spider-Man limping down the street, but he wanted to put more distance between himself and the scene, find somewhere private where he could yank off his mask and emerge as Peter once more.

With the way his luck was going, he was a little surprised the skies weren’t currently pelting him with rain, but he wouldn’t hold his breath.

A familiar tingle down his spine had him freezing and swiveling to his left just as a yellow Metro taxi pulled up beside him.

“Excuse me!” The driver leaned over the passenger’s seat, waving his hand in an enthusiastic greeting that matched his bright grin. “Would you like a ride, mister?”

“Uh…” Peter gripped the strap of his backpack a little tighter as he shook his head. “No thanks, man.”

“No charge!” the man called as Peter began to walk away. He turned back, admittedly tempted by the offer. _What if it’s a trap?_ he wondered. A shock of pain crawled up his calf as his ankle protested the thought of walking any longer.

“Are you sure?” Peter asked, even as he limped toward the back door.

“Oh, yes!” the driver gushed as Peter sat, or rather fell, onto the stained pleather seats with a grunt. “Superhero discount, right? Free taxi rides!”

“I gotta say, I don’t think that’s a thing.”

The man’s wide smile fell into a thoughtful frown. “I’ll have to have a talk with Mr. Pool,” he muttered before turning back to Peter, arm stretching over the console. “I am Dopinder, by the way.”

“Spider-Man,” he greeted in return with a weary handshake.

“Nice meeting you, Mr. Man!”

“Actually, it’s just --”

Dopinder jerked the car into drive, interrupting, “Where can I take you?”

Peter chewed his lip in thought. He certainly wouldn’t give out his address, but being dropped off in a nearby neighbourhood shouldn’t be too risky. “Um, just straight, for now.”

He bit back a hiss as he rearranged himself, back against the door and slowly-healing ankle propped up on the seat. His head hit the glass with a sound _thunk_ as he let his eyes close. _Only for a moment, I swear…_

 

“The fuck you mean, you’ve got a customer?”

Peter groaned as the raised voice continued its rant, his cheek rubbing against something sticky and soft. A burnt-cheese-and-ashtray odour filled his nose.

“Well, I don’t give a shit! My mark’s leaving his office in fifteen, and his timecard needs punching out!”

He jumped back as the door slammed open, eyes flying open at the sharp tug of newly-scabbed skin. A red-and-black suit popped in the doorway, head cocking to the side as the man’s mouth seemed to fall open, black gloves slapping against his cheeks.

“What the -?” Peter muttered as the man jumped into the backseat, crowding him against the door with his bulky mass.

“Dopinder, you didn’t tell me your customer was _Spidey!”_

If he hadn’t been holding his fingers against his web-shooter triggers in preparation for an imminent attack, he probably would have slammed his hands over his ears against the _jarring_ squeal. He was beginning to think this had all been some sort of set up as the masked man turned to him, hands still clasped against his cheeks.

“Oh, we have so many questions!” the man exclaimed. “Have you always been so flexible, or was the spider that bit you just super kinky? I read once in _People_ magazine that Tony Stark is your sugar daddy -- A, is that true? And B, if it is - or even if it isn’t - would you consider a slightly less wealthy, _very_ much less attractive me as a sugar daddy? Also, could you turn around? _Mmf,_ I gotta know if that ass is as delectable as it looks like on screen.”

“I -- you -- _what?”_ Peter barely managed to squeak as his cheeks began to flood with heat. _Did he really just… say all of that?_

“Sorry, we’re being rude! You uncharismatic _fuck!”_ Peter was quite sure the latter part was directed at the man himself, mumbled under his breath as it was, but it was still rather shocking. “I’m Deadpool!” The man peeled a hand away from his cheek to stick it out, only this time Peter very much refused the proffered handshake. The fingers of his right hand twitched against the web trigger, his left hand snaking behind his back to grip the door handle. The man seemed completely unphased. “Huge fan of your work on the streets, would love to see what you can do between the sheets!”

The man grinned so ferociously behind his mask, Peter could see the fabric stretched over his bared teeth. Then his smile fell away, alarmingly fast, as his head turned to the headrest. “Whaddya mean, ‘cringey AF’? That was _smooth_ AF!”

“Very smooth, Mr. Pool!” Dopinder cheered from the front.

“See?” Deadpool muttered to the air, leaving Peter to wonder if he had an earpiece. _Maybe this really is a set up?_ Then the man was turning back to him, the white fabric over his eyes constricting. “What do you think, Spidey? We’re pretty smooth, right?”

“We?” Peter repeated dubiously. Shaking his head with an aggravated sigh, he raised a hand before the rambling weirdo could speak. “Scratch that, I don’t really care. Look, guys, I’ve kind of had a long day. Could you just tell me where you’re taking me, maybe who you work for?”

“Welllll,” Deadpool drawled. “That’s kind of a big fucking question, Spidey, ‘cause I work for anyone with a big enough load, if ya know what I mean - and _oh,_ shit, you think we kidnapped you, baby boy?”

“What?” Dopinder yelped from the front seat. “I swear, no more kidnapping for me! The movies make it look so easy, but Bandhu put up a real fight-”

“Dopinder!” Deadpool growled. “Not helping!” He turned back to Spider-Man, hands raised in surrender. “I swear, Spidey, I called Dopinder up to drive me to a job, I had no idea you were holin’ up in the backseat! Apparently, he didn’t think that would be _relevant information_ to mention over the phone. Not that I’m complaining, really, ‘cause I’ve been wanting to meet the sweet bod that squeezes into my fav Avenger’s suit, and _Iron Shit_ has made it perfectly clear that he’d blast my dick off if I ever came close to his precious little sugar baby, so really, to sum things up, I’m pretty sure this is sweet-ass destiny at work right now.”

“So, you _haven’t_ kidnapped me?” Peter clarified uncertainly.

“Baby boy, if I wanted to steal you away, you wouldn’t be awake right now to struggle.”

“That’s… oddly comforting, actually,” he conceded.

“Aww!” Deadpool cooed. “How sweet, we’re bonding!”

“Wait, did you say I’m your favourite Avenger?” Peter asked as his hand released its death grip on the slightly dented door handle. “That’s sweet, I think? And, uh, how come I’ve never heard of you?”

Deadpool’s slapped his chest and gasped, as if properly scandalized. “You’ve - you’ve never heard of me?” he exclaimed. “Are you fucking - c’mon. Deadpool? Merc with a Mouth? Regenerating Degenerate?”

Peter stiffly shook his head.

“Your sugar daddy usually just calls me, ‘Hey, you, fuckwit.’ No? Doesn’t ring a bell?”

Peter opened his mouth to protest the _sugar daddy_ part, but just silently shook his head instead.

“Man, this sucks!” Deadpool groaned, head falling back against the seat. “How am I supposed to blow you away with my mad skills, figuratively _and literally,_ if you don’t even know what the fuck they are?” He paused for a moment, rubbing his chin thoughtfully before jolting and turning back to Peter. “Oh, yes, we’ve got a great idea! Why don’t you join me on my gig tonight?”

“What?” Peter croaked. He had been told by some of the Avengers that he had a penchant for rambling, but Deadpool’s blathering and abrupt segues had his head spinning. “Gig?”

“Ooh, it’ll be so much fun! Like a slumber party, but instead of sleeping, we’ll be beating up bad guys!”

 _That makes absolutely no sense,_ Peter thought. “I would, really, but my ankle…” he trailed off, pointing vaguely at the congealed blood peeking through torn fabric.

“Doesn’t look that bad!” Deadpool insisted, hands reaching out to prod at his injury.

“Hey!” Peter shouted, shooting a warning web scant millimetres over Deadpool’s twitching fingers. It splattered harmlessly against the opposite door.

“I’ve told you before, Mr. Pool,” Dopinder warned genially. “No hanky panky in the back!”

“Hanky panky?” Peter yelped, distracted long enough for Deadpool to wrap a hand around his ankle and throttle his limb. “Jeez, what the hell?” He yanked his foot back, both arms raising to aim at Deadpool’s face.

“Seems fine to me!” Deadpool declared happily. “No fractures, no worries!”

“Doesn’t mean I have to come with you,” Peter grumbled under his breath as he flexed his foot. Damn, it was healed perfectly. (Though the skin tingled where Deadpool’s costume had touched it -- that thing was probably filthy.)

“Pretty please?” The white of his eyes widened, bottom lip jutting out underneath the mask. “I’m your biggest fan!”

Peter rolled his eyes. “I don’t have fans,” he sneered, crossing his arms against the vague emptiness that spread through his chest at the admittance.

“Correction: you have one fan. It’s me. Did you know you have one thousand and ninety-four videos on Youtube? I’ve watched them all. I also collect newspaper and magazine clippings every time you’re mentioned. But don’t worry, they’re not taped to my wall or anything. I’m not a stalker!” He laughed, loudly and off-pitch, before turning away. “No, why would I tell him about that? I don’t do it _that_ often.”

“Okay, okay,” Peter interjected. “This is getting a little creepy again.”

Deadpool fell silent, pouted lip creating a lump under his mask once again as he held his clasped hands in front of his face. Although he wouldn’t be able to tell, Peter raised a dubious brow. There came a shrill, wavering noise from the man’s throat.

 _“Fine,”_ Peter groaned, rubbing his forehead wearily. Anything to stop that awful noise. “I’ll come, but just… Chill out a bit, alright?”

 

Deadpool did not chill out. At all. He spent the rest of the ride gushing to Dopinder, as if he had forgotten that his supposed “hero-slash-heartthrob” was sitting right beside him. Eventually they reached a rather fancy neighbourhood, and Dopinder pulled the car up a block away from their destination. The driver shot them a thumbs-up and a whispered, “Good luck!” before switching on a jaunty Bollywood song as they exited the car.

He followed Deadpool as they entered a dark, desolate parking garage. There were only a few cars left; Deadpool’s eyes fell on a black S-Class Benz and he gave a slight nod before crowding Peter against a pillar. As he crouched, Deadpool slid down behind him. The mercenary’s hand rested on the cement beside Peter’s head, chest scraping against Peter’s back with every breath.

“Is that really necessary?” he hissed, trying to shift away, only for Deadpool’s leg to bracket him in.

“Hush, sweetie,” he murmured in response. “I’m working.”

Peter rolled his eyes, wishing - not for the first time - there was a way to convey his non-verbal exasperation more clearly through the mask. His head swiveled to the right; a few seconds later, a man entered through the sliding glass doors. Deadpool stiffened behind him. The man was tall, with dark slicked-back hair. They waited as he stepped further into the parking lot. Peter could see the glint of a gold watch as he raised his hand, pointing his fob as he pushed the button. As the Benz beeped in response, Deadpool burst from behind the pillar, ripping out the twin guns holstered at his waist.

“Gimme the codes to the offshore accounts, you sack of shit!” he demanded as he pulled a trigger. The shot echoed in the empty lot as the bullet breezed passed the man’s knee.

Peter jumped up, racing over to Deadpool and yanking at his arm. “What the hell, man!” he yelled. “Those are real bullets!”

Deadpool’s head cocked to the side as he lifted one of the silver firearms, inspecting it curiously. “Well, yeah,” he deadpanned. “I want to _really_ shoot his kneecaps off!”

Peter dropped the mercenary’s leather-covered arm as he took a step back. “You can’t _hurt_ people,” he implored earnestly. “That’s not right!”

Deadpool’s boot scraped against the ground. Peter winced as the merc casually rubbed the barrel of a gun against his chin, seemingly deep in thought. When the mark shifted to run, Deadpool didn’t even turn toward him as he flung out an arm, gun aimed directly at the man’s head. “So wait…” he drawled casually. “You want me to interrogate him but, like… _not_ shoot him?”

“Exactly!” Peter exclaimed.

“Can I castrate him?” The merc was practically bouncing on his toes at the prospect.

“What? Ew, no!”

“Okay, got it.” Deadpool turned back toward the man (who now, frankly, looked more bemused than scared) then paused. “No maiming? Mutilating?” he asked.

“Dude, no!” Peter groaned. “No weapons, just -- hey! Put that plastic bag away!” The merc had the decency to look slightly chastened, shoulders hunching as shoved the bag back into his pouch. “Look, maybe I should take the lead.”

“Fine, whatever.” Deadpool motioned him forward. “But don’t think I’m splitting the money with you!”

Peter rolled his eyes as he marched toward the businessman, arms crossed over his chest. “Seeing as I just saved you from a patellectomy, mind telling me what he wants to know?”

“I’m not telling you shit, bug-boy,” the man growled.

“Hey, show him some damn respect!” Deadpool chastised. “Unless you want me to introduce your prostate gland to my good friend here, Arthur.” The merc fingered one of his katanas, mask stretching against a startling grin.

 

Peter would have to concede that Deadpool’s colourful and rather inventive threats softened the man into talking more so than Spider-Man’s cajoling, but they eventually got the information Deadpool needed. Peter webbed him to the floor for good measure as they left -- if Deadpool was after him, he must be involved in _something_ shady -- and felt a tad satisfied when the man complained about his bursting bladder.

“Wow, this feels so _weird…”_ Deadpool chattered as they casually sauntered back to the street. “Leaving a mark alive, without even a severed limb or a testicle-shaped carving on his face!”

Peter gave him a sidelong glance. “I kinda see why Mr. Stark didn’t want us meeting.”

“Aww, c’mon!” Deadpool coaxed, slinging an arm around Peter’s shoulders. “You’re a good influence on me! You were all, ‘Don’t hurt the perp,’” he mimicked in a much too high-pitched voice. “And I totally listened!”

Peter was glad the mask hid his small, indulgent smile. “Yeah. Yeah, you actually did. Hey, this isn’t gonna cause problems for you, is it? I mean, with your employer.”

“Ah, nah.” As Deadpool waved his hand dismissively, his fingers brushed against Peter’s chest. “I mean, when they say, ‘Get the information by whatever means necessary,’ I kinda go straight for the slashin’ and hackin’. Never really considered just _talking._ Crazy.”

“Yeah,” Peter snorted. “Crazy.”

“So, what do I get?” Deadpool asked, coming to a stop. As Peter started at him blankly, he explained, “Y’know, I obeyed your orders, was a good little pet. What’s my prize, baby boy?”

“Ugh, please _stop_ calling me that. And, I don’t know, the moral high ground?”

Deadpool grinned, leaning his massive frame down towards Peter. “I was thinking more like a kiss from our handsome prince!”

Peter shoved the merc away, but he couldn’t help a small laugh. “How about…” he trailed off, as he considered what he could possibly offer in reward that wouldn’t give Deadpool any wrong thoughts. Well, more wrong than he already had. “We do this again sometime?” I mean, not _this_ \- I’m not going to help you hurt people for money. But, I don’t know, if there are some bank robbers, or the next time some suped-up idiot tries to take over the city, we could team up? And don’t worry about Mr. Stark, I’ll put in a good word for you.”

His proposal seemed to be more shocking than he had thought, for Deadpool clutched his chest and made strangled little noises. Shaking his head, Peter took a few steps away and lifted his wrist.

“Before you go, just tell me this,” Deadpool called before Peter could activate his shooter. “Is he really your sugar daddy?”

“No!” Peter yelped, throwing a web at a nearby building so he could swing away before Deadpool could ruin the admittedly somewhat-nice moment any more.

Unfortunately, his ears picked up on the yell below: “So the position is open, then?”

**Author's Note:**

> [My tumblr](http://airebellah.tumblr.com/)


End file.
